


The Most Important Meal of the Day

by heyjupiter



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and Charles is trying his very best to feed everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Important Meal of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [xmen-firstkink](http://xmen_firstkink.livejournal.com) [prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=1929095#t1929095) (Erik teaching Charles how to cook).

It’s his first morning waking up in Xavier’s obscenely large mansion. Erik’s hungry, but he’s not sure he would even remember where the kitchen was if he hadn’t been following the acrid smell of smoke. It’s a very large, shiny kitchen with all the newest gadgets. It’s currently occupied by one flustered, pajama-clad telepath.

“Damn,” Charles mutters. He’s peering into a large copper-bottomed pot. He coughs a little, breathing in the thick black smoke that’s pouring out of the pot.

“What on earth are you doing, Charles?” Erik asks. “Surely this house has a fireplace, if that is your aim.”

“It has several fireplaces, Erik, and as you can see I am simply trying to cook breakfast for everyone.”

Erik stands next to his friend and looks down into the pot. He laughs. “Charles, how much oatmeal did you intend to make? I know teenage boys have large appetites, but still, there are only the seven of us here.”

“I just… put in the whole container,” Charles admits.

“Right,” Erik says. “In the future, a half-cup per person should suffice. Perhaps an extra cup or two for these boys.” He uses his power to hold the pot over the rubbish bin, and then he separates the metal from the burnt-on oatmeal and pours it into the garbage.

“It looks like you didn’t have enough water. Honestly, Charles, it’s all on the package.”

Charles runs a hand through his thick hair. “I just… I don’t know. I thought it would be easy. I suppose I didn’t read it carefully.”

Erik rummages through the pantry. “We’ll have to go shopping later.” He comes back with a few onions and opens the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a block of cheddar cheese. He opens the crisper and finds mushrooms and a green bell pepper.

“I’ll make omelets,” he says decisively. “Do you know where a cutting board is?”

“Um…”

“Of course you don’t,” Erik mutters. He opens all the cabinets and finds a huge wooden cutting board. He uses his power to pick an 8-inch chef’s knife out of the large knife block. Charles watches while Erik simultaneously chops vegetables and whisks eggs with his hands in his pockets.

“That is quite an impressive control over your power, my friend,” Charles says.

Erik shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of practice. But really, Charles, have you never made oatmeal?”

“Well, no,” Charles admits sullenly.

“I am sure you had cooks here, but when you were at Oxford? What did you eat?”

“Raven usually cooked for me, or… or someone else. Or I would eat at pubs. Or things that didn’t require cooking. I simply… I was simply very busy, Erik.”

“Cooking isn’t just women’s work, you know.”

The surprise in Charles’s voice is genuine when he says, “No, I never thought that, I just—that smells heavenly, Erik.”

“I’m surprised you can even smell it, given all the smoke that’s still in here. Could you at least open a window?”

Charles does so while Erik perfectly flips an omelet.

“That’s better. Now, do you think you could handle toast?”

“Erik, I’m not completely hopeless,” Charles says. He opens the breadbox and puts two slices of Wonderbread in the toaster.

Erik wants to make a comment about the Wonderbread, but he senses that Charles is already feeling sheepish enough. He’ll wait until they’re at the supermarket to comment on that. There isn’t much he misses about Europe, but he does wonder if there was a single decent bakery in all of the United States.

Charles sidles up next to Erik. “How did you do that?”

“It’s very simple, Charles. The trick is in making sure the pan reaches the proper temperature, and to make sure it is well oiled. Here, watch while I make the next one,” he says, flipping the omelet out of the frying pan and onto a plate.

Charles watches as Erik pours some of the whisked egg and milk mixture out into the pan. “You let it cook for about a minute without touching it. See, until the eggs start to set. Then,” he says, demonstrating, “You scrape carefully around the edges and flip it over. Now, you can add the vegetables and the cheese… let it cook for a tiny bit longer… then fold it and flip it out. Easy as pie. Or, rather, easier than pie. Here, you do the next one.”

“All right,” Charles says hesitantly. He pours some eggs into the pan. “Is that enough?”

“Perhaps a bit more.” Charles obeys, and stands carefully watching the eggs. He’s trying to flip them over when Raven strolls into the kitchen.

“Charles? Since when do you cook? And, ugh, what’s burning?”

“It was oatmeal,” Erik says. “No, wait—“

“The toast!” Charles says with a groan.

Raven rolls her eyes and unplugs the toaster. She comes over to observe Charles, who’s putting the finishing touches on his omelet.

“Hey, that doesn’t look too bad, Charles,” she says.

“Yes, thank you,” Charles says. “I do think I’m getting the hang of this.” Then he goes to scrape the omelet off the pan and ends up tearing it.

“Oh, bother,” he mumbles.

Raven shrugs. “Well, it’ll still taste the same. Erik, I do believe you’re a good influence on my brother.”

Erik snorts. It’s probably the only time he’ll ever be called a good influence on anyone. “Thank you, Raven,” he says. “Would you mind making some toast for us? I wouldn’t want to overwhelm Charles with too many new experiences this morning.”

“Hey,” Charles protests weakly. “I’ve made toast before.”

“Oh, yeah, Charles, you make it all the—never. You make it never,” Raven says. She carefully pries the burnt toast out of the toaster and throws it away. She adjusts the dial and puts in two new slices of bread.

“I’ll just put on water for tea, then,” Charles says.

Erik and Raven exchange a glance and barely manage to keep from giggling.

“I assure you, I can manage hot water,” Charles says irritably.

“Charles, you promised never to read my thoughts,” Raven says.

“I don’t need to read your thoughts when’re you’re _smirking_ like that.”

Before too long, a perfectly lovely spread of omelets, toast, and tea is laid out on the dining room table.

“Oh my stars and garters, this is quite the breakfast,” Hank says. “It smells delicious.”

“It _is_ the most important meal of the day,” Raven says.

“You’d all better eat up,” Charles says. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“What are you making us for lunch, Charles?” Raven asks impishly. “I’m sure we’ll be hungry.”

“I’ll teach him how to make sandwiches,” Erik says.

“Very funny,” Charles says, although the look on his face makes Erik fairly confident that he has never made a sandwich before.  



End file.
